


in technicolor is a really good album the fact that it hasn't gained popularity because it wasn't released at the time jesse mccartney was most famous is a fucking insult to his talent

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, tasteful smut. Tasteful., this is part of toffee but can be read separately i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: requestedsex scene in more detail from ch14 of toffee





	

**Author's Note:**

> requested
> 
> sex scene in more detail from ch14 of toffee

" _So,"_ and it's a word, it's a little tiny word with the significance of a- Significance of something rather insignificant, he'd say, because it's all he can, because no one's the ability to envision metaphors of breath-lost crystal when there's thighs straddling tight their hips and lips fresh from their neck lilting prior insignificance. And more trails it, though there's more syllables for him to analyze and grow dizzy in the depth of. "Now that we're dating, we can do stuff...right?"

He thinks it- thinks of the earlier afternoon's _and stuff_ that'd played as the insulation to the basement of maladroitness. It has now no twin, as it is not that he's said _and stuff_ , he's said, however ineloquent, a plain _stuff._ He wants to do _stuff_ , and Togami feels his own _stuff_ collect the heat of anticipation. But- _god -_ he's not so juvenile as to use such a term to refer to his dick, particularly in the minutes following when it's been enveloped in warmth that's so gauche it's arousing in itself.

If he'd been told that his obstructive cross-the-hall neighbor would be sucking him off at twelve:sixteen AM on a Wednesday- well, he doesn't quite know of any hypothetical reaction, because once again, he finds it rather hard to think of anything other than the mouth on his cock.

It's... _awkward_ , but so very delicious regardless, and Naegi hadn't even _asked_ first, just proclaimed his little _so_ and statement after, wriggled in his spot atop the other's hips, and said other had been too entranced by it to recall the events between then and now. He supposes there'd been some shuffling, since he's higher leant against the wall behind him now, supposes there'd come a point where Naegi had stripped his boxers to his knees as to initiate the first grasp and lick and shudder.

He supposes, too, that the sensation's remarkable. He hasn't a comparison, though, nor is he certain quite how to react to it. There's no solid decision made- the wet of tongue circles up him, drags sounds from him he never knew existed. It's a skill, really, the way Naegi bobs his head and works that cute little mouth of his along the throb of his cock, and he's to wonder how he's had the practice.

Then he just remembers just exactly how he's had the practice, and his skin's flush is a hue of pique rather than its previous rosy contentment.

As far as Togami is concerned, no one else planted upon their shared earth has the right to be touched in this fashion by the angel between his legs, intends so intently to assure it is to never happen again. Possession's a personal appeal to it; Naegi Makoto is _his,_ has belonged to him since the stupid day in the library, since the lava lamp broke, since the morning he'd been wearing a watch at eleven:seventeen.

And- _oh,_ how he'd hate any outcome opposing.

Because Naegi Makoto is his, his, _his,_ as shown by way their forms align next, the pucker of lips gainst throat's delicate flesh and the gasp that sounds between the gelid night's billows above him when he bites. There's a hand in his hair, then, and an expression he can picture so gorgeously (those stunning eyes fallen shut with lashes soft to cheekbones glowing pink, mouth parted the slightest under it). And- and and and. And he hears it, warm rumbles beneath his kisses that morph into the divinity of a moan, and his name _his his his!_ A little _mm, Byakuya-_ that presses a hitch unto his pulse. "That feels good," he says, his voice a gift and the smoky tone of midnight the neatly tied bow atop it. Togami hopes his trembles are subtle.

When he retracts, there's a stark mark of tenderness in all senses marring Naegi's neck. He's not sure how he even knows what a hickey is or how to give one, considering this accounts for his first sexual experience with someone besides himself, and-

And he so suddenly realizes that this accounts for his first sexual experience with someone besides himself, and it sends a rush of something unnameable to his abdomen's pit. This is his first time, this is _their_ first time. That thought replaces the steaming uncertainty with joviality he cannot quell, but then his mind loops around to the fact that he'll be the only one, how's it go, _deflowered_ within the bounds of this evening, because someone else has already done that job (and most likely several others) to Naegi in his place. It brings about more... _jealousy,_ he cares not to snarl out. But it's jealousy, because the sheets are cool against his bare back, and moonlight flits through hazel peering down toward him, and then they're kissing, and his thigh muscles twitch beneath the slide of fingers along it, and they're kissing, and they're in his stupid little college dorm room that was only ever meant for one, and there's two of them, there's two and there always will be two, and...and he's about to lose his virginity to Naegi Makoto, and he's just palavering internally to avoid thinking about it.

Because he doesn't need to think about it anymore. Because it's happening. Because Naegi is his boyfriend, and that's what boyfriends do.

His throat closes around the choke of a hand on his chest.

"Alright?" comes with it. He's hardly even recognized its stance as an inquiry until those eyes shimmer in waiting question, so he nods, nods and moves to cup his face's either side in two palms. This kiss is soft, understanding. It's soft in contrast to angled jaws and lids clenched in fervor, and he hadn't even noticed he'd been straddled again until Naegi grinds on his navel, slow drags of nude pelvis against him. His hands drop to rest at the plush of two thighs that aren't his own. Naegi lifts himself a fraction to mouth hot against his throat. Something of another question, something of if he has _stuff,_ and he frowns because of course he doesn't have _stuff_ (and he's really beginning to detest that word), why would a straightlaced twenty year old of his caliber have _stuff._ No real issue's found through it, instead just the ravenous lap at fingers before they're guided behind himself, leaving him to watch as Naegi's face contorts in a variety of flavors.

It's all happening rather quickly, he thinks, and he thinks he wouldn't care for it any other way. Naegi, the pure coquette he must be, wastes no time angling himself to feel the protrusion of erection's tip at his hole. 

Then Naegi Makoto is sitting on his dick, and he can't recall a time he's ever so struggled for breath.

" _Mmn..."_ But it doesn't seem of pleasure just yet, seems as though he's awaiting the yield of himself as to ignite sensation exceptional. Togami eyes him in wary brush strokes, feels himself twitch again at the wandering of mind. To him, the way Naegi's face tightens is his way of expressing his surprise, because, _oh, fuck, you're a lot bigger than I thought, Byakuya, so much more than anyone I've ever had, good god you're so fucking sexy, I'm-_ but he's drawn to reality at a wisp of a motion, the lift of hips and drop down, rough edged exhale that chases it. His head hangs between them, hands poised as anchors at his lover's chest and arms above them quaking in the pressure of it all.

" _Makoto..."_ he spills without intention. His teeth clench in his own asininity, but either way it works to encourage his movements, his delectable, spectacular movements. Naegi rides his cock in splendor, drawing upwards just to push himself back _hard_ , hard slow and aching, faint tickles of pants grazing blonde. He tchs, groans in murmurs that only make him more irresistible.

But there isn't reason to resist him any longer. They're... _together_ together. Togami throbs at the center.

Focusing's a feat of a being divine in the literal sense, as he's too consumed by every thing as an everything to respect each on their own. Naegi's- _Makoto Makoto Makoto_ -his delicious little hips and silky moans, the way they all together beg in silent gesticulations _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,_ because a single glance toward his litheness is enough to make one wish they were.

Considering this accounts for his first sexual experience with- whatever, whatever! Togami's the brightest touch hesitant to touch at all, but the little mewls cajole his fingers involuntarily, guide them to stroke along the hard cock rubbing friction against his abdomen with each movement. Deftness is his pumps of hand, and bliss is the hum that rolls from the other's hot tongue. His back arches, head tips, stomach twists in delightful fire. And within his own, the same burn claws, more so once the heat raising and lifting around his dick tightens, leaving him a mess of oxygen depravity and grit molars. He isn't sure the proper climax etiquette, but hasn't the time to research it. Admitting how loudly he moans upon orgasm would be a slice to his staid persona, he thinks, though he'd say gladly that filling Naegi Makoto up with his come is of the most satisfaction he's ever experienced.

Perhaps it's second only to the soft cry of his name that meets his spasming tendons, the way his chest is lain upon after the most subtle of anxious laughter and wiping of top sheet to the mess he'd left behind.

Then it's quiet, then it's breaths through noses and lips to his jawline, and Naegi's already begun to make some form of idle conversation because he _never_ shuts up, and Togami can't imagine ever wanting him to. Neither can he imagine himself ever wanting is the touch of another, as any would never meet the stun of this one, be so pathetic in comparison to his _boyfriiiiend'_ s that he needn't even waste precious seconds humoring it. And he's lost in satiety, balmy in it, nearly, and there's music behind his eyes and the caress of a waist neath his arm, kisses melting along his neck to the tune of desire.

They're their own everythings, and everything is perfect.


End file.
